Down & dirty

Imagine this, you’ve met the man of your dreams – tall, dark and hairy, he makes you feel like the woman you’ve always wanted to be. You finally think things are going your way and that just maybe, you have met your match. And then he takes his shoes off.

I was not-so-recently in a similar situation to this, albeit he wasn’t quite the man of my dreams.

A couple of months ago I invited my then bit over for dinner and after demolishing the ready-made meals I’d slaved over for at least four minutes we sat down for a little ‘Netflix and chill‘, as they say. But when he peeled off his shoes (which were apparently also functioning as a microwave) and had the audacity to place his feet on the coffee table, I had NO chill.

Saying that his feet “smelt bad” does not even vaguely convey what my nostrils were subject to that night – a pungent and repulsive stench that made me what to burn anything he’d ever had contact with. And after awkwardly forcing him to put my brother’s socks on whilst I did my best to suppress my gag reflex (sorry bro), I came to the thankful realisation that this wasn’t meant to be.

Perhaps the most scarring experience of my life (and I’ve been hit by a car), I’d like to ask you why? Why? Why didn’t you shower properly and end this misery? What did I do to deserve this?

It was philosopher John Locke who said that “education begins the gentleman, but reading, good company and reflection must finish him.” Well, I’d like to add one thing to that John; and impeccable hygiene.

Now of course I’m not suggesting that you attempt to hide all of your natural bodily functions in an attempt to impress a woman, I’m simply suggesting that you should take pride in preparation.

Women collective are waxed to within an inch of their lives. We use a form of medieval torture to epilate our legs. We’ve forgotten what it’s like to have our own nails. Tweezers are our eye-watering lifeline.

We’re always prepared. And then you turn up.

Put yourself in a woman’s odorless shoes for a moment. Can you imagine the fear that jolts through our body when we see your dirtied long finger nails, knowing that later they may come too close for comfort? Can you consider the repulse we feel when you turn up in the same polyester shirt you’ve been wearing all day, catching a whiff of it and knowing the smell will only get worse the lower we go? Do you know how hard it is not to vomit out of sheer politeness when we smell your stale breath?

You’d like to believe that women have no body functions. You’d like to believe that women smell like Lenor fabric softener in the most intimate of areas. You’d like to believe that women are as hair free as Vin Diesel’s head. Well I’d like to believe that you’re not homeless.

Perhaps you’ll read this and think I’m high-maintenance or too easily disgusted and maybe that’s true. Although, I’d like to think that my adversity to gluttonous, smelly and unkempt men is a fair objection. I just want to meet a man that doesn’t make me want to retch, is that too much to ask?